Separated
by Stella Storms
Summary: The story of Aelin's long-lost twin.
1. Prologue

**Hey y'all, this concept has been swimming around in my head for a while now so I thought I'd give this story a shot. Feel free to leave me a review if you want to see more! - S.S**

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The coppery smell of blood shoved its way up Anirah's nose, causing her throat to burn and tears to well in her eyes. But she didn't move from where she hid. Marion had ordered her to stay in the cupboard until she came back, and not to move a muscle, no matter what she heard.

And she had heard a lot.

Heard the soldiers busting down the doors, the clang and scrape of their swords against the marble floor. Heard the screams that pierced the air as they pillaged the castle, ripping it apart piece by piece. And then, she heard nothing. The silence was almost worse.

She had been in her bedroom when Marion shook her awake, and she was half asleep as the nursemaid led her along the servants passages by the wrist. Through sleep-fogged eyes, she barely registered the flames that had started to creep up the countryside through the open window, and it hadn't dawned on her that something was amiss until Marion had shoved her into the kitchen cupboard, with the instructions to remain as quiet as possible. Anirah had kept her promise to stay hidden and silent, crouched in that cupboard for what felt like hours and hours.

And Marion had still not yet returned.

She was beginning to grow cold. Anirah could see the condensation of her breath in the air before her, and huddled closer within herself. Had Marion forgotten about her? Surely she should have come back by now. Anirah bit her lip to keep it from trembling. And what of her sister? She had not been in their bed when Marion had come for her. She'd been too paralyzed by fear to ask any questions earlier, but now she wished she had.

Where was Aelin?

Anirah was just about to venture out of the cupboard to find her sister when she heard a noise just outside her hiding spot. She froze, her heart kicking up a frenzied beat in her chest. Someone was moving around in the kitchen, their steps even and light, unlike the crashing gait of the soldiers.

It was then that Anirah began to pray, invoking all the gods she knew of that this stranger wouldn't find her. There came slight rustling noises as they stalked through the kitchen, as if they were looking for something.

At that point, Anirah couldn't help it - a slight whimper escaped her lips. The intruder stopped, and for a moment, there was complete silence.

Then the cupboard door was flung open, and a Fae warrior crouched before her, utterly still and silent. Such power emanated from him that Anirah recoiled, her fear sour on her tongue. Shining silver hair framed his harsh face, and eyes of brilliant green were peering at her in surprise.

"It's alright," He said, the gentleness in his voice catching her off guard. "I am not going to hurt you." Anirah pressed herself closer into the wall.

"Where is my sister?" She whispered, her voice ragged.

The warrior paused. "I don't know," He said. There was something like pity in those sharp green eyes. Her lip began to tremble, and it was all she could do to hold back tears. "I was sent to take you away from this place," The warrior continued softly, inching closer. "My queen will see to it that you are well cared for."

"W-Where are you taking me?" She did not want to leave. This was her home, where her family had dwelled for generations. She had heard of the rest of the continent - how it was ruled by a wicked king. Where magic was banned, and had all but disappeared.

"It is called Wendelyn. A place for people like you and me," He assured.

Despite her fear, Anirah set her jaw, lifting her chin just a bit. "I will not leave. My nurse said to wait here until she came back."

The fae warrior loosed a breath. "She is not coming for you." His tone was clear enough. Marion was dead.

Anirah couldn't breathe. The only thought that made it coherently past her muddled brain was no, it couldn't be true _._

A sob ripped from her throat. _No._

Then the warrior was gathering her up in his arms, tucking her head against his chest as she wept. He carried her through the castle, shielding her eyes to keep her from seeing the carnage. "It's alright," He murmured into her ear, his breath warm against her freezing skin. "You're safe. You're safe." He repeated it over and over.

She didn't believe him.


	2. The Healer

_**Nine Years Later**_

 **Anirah**

Fear had no place in the Fae Queens' court. I'd learned that a long time ago - and yet, it was still hard to push the feeling down, sometimes. I don't fear what I'm about to do. I've done it hundreds of times before.

It's my soul I fear for. If I even still have one.

My steps echo on the polished marble floor as I make my way to the throne room, and various court nobles avert their gaze as I walk past, suddenly becoming very busy with something else. If I wanted to, I could make them look at me. Force their bodies to obey my command. But I just walk on.

There's no fanfare when I enter the room - everyone in Doranelle knows my name. My queen lounges in her throne, flanked by huge twin wolves that sit stiff and alert by the dias. The black one seems to be staring at me, but I ignore him.

"Your grace," I say, sinking to one knee.

Maeve smirks, gesturing for me to rise. She's wearing a gown today, the material so dark that it seems to be absorbing the light around it. It makes her skin glow paler than usual.

"Bring him in," She says softly. That's when I notice Cairn standing in the corner, that sadistic little smile twisting his face as he reaches behind a curtain and drags a decrepit-looking faerie out. He manhandles him across the room and stops in front of me, not bothering to hide the long, predatory look he gives me. I keep my face neutral. I can't afford to show emotion here.

The faerie is shaking, whispering something under his breath. In the old tongue, by the sounds of it. Cairn returns to his spot in the corner, readying himself for a show.

Maeve's lip curls. "Hold him."

With half a thought from me, the faeries body seizes. He's no longer shaking - he physically can't.

"You are Killion Pitch, correct?" She says it like she's speaking to a lover. Maeve never raises her voice. She must think she sounds more unnerving that way (which she does).

The faerie doesn't answer.

Maeve clicks her blood red nails against the arm of her throne, and the sound grates against my ears. "Cat got your tongue?" She croons.

The faerie isn't that remarkable. Slim build. Straw colored hair. Watery gray eyes. He's the oldest-looking faerie I've ever seen, besides Calypso. He seems like he could collapse with one push - and yet, he keeps his mouth shut.

I don't need a command from Maeve this time. The faerie -Killion, I assume - begins to sweat visibly, and he gasps like he's running out of air.

"Let's try again. Are you Killion?"

The faerie grunts. His skin is starting to turn red. "Yes," he rasps.

"Wonderful. And you live in Mistward, yes?"

"Yes."

Mistward. The place where Maeve forced the demi-fae to live after she barred them from her golden city. I had stayed there for a couple of days, after Rowan first found me. I wish I was there now.

"You're a bit far from home, aren't you." _Click. Click. Click._ "I wonder how you wandered into my realm without being detected. And into my private office, of all places."

 _He made it_ that _far?_ Perhaps I underestimated him.

Maeve reaches for something hidden in the folds of her skirt, and procures a small circular object. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger. "Is this what you were trying to steal?"

It's a mirror, the surface grimy and spotted with old age. It doesn't seem like it has any value, but it must, if this frail-looking faerie risked his life to steal it.

The torture continues for more than an hour, but the faerie remains stubbornly resolute. He endures everything from broken bones to brain aneurysms, and his answers remain vague and useless.

I can see the impatience flit across Maeve's beautiful face. Usually, her victims crack by now.

She finally gives in when the faerie goes unconscious. I've been keeping him awake with my own willpower for the past several minutes, but I can barely support myself at this point.

The torturing also takes a toll on me. My head is throbbing when I release him, and my fingers and toes have gone numb.

Torture is perversion of my gift. Just as I could cool a fever, so too could I make blood boil. Cause bones to grow and twist to the point that they crack. Enflame nerve endings until they burn out. Stop hearts dead in their beating.

It's impossible for most healers to physically harm another person with their magic. And even if they did attempt it, the immense strain of it could possibly kill them. At the Torre Cesme, healers take a solemn oath to only use their magic to heal, not harm. When my sister and I were young, we dreamed of studying together at the Torre. Now I doubt they would take me.

The first couple times Maeve employed me as her torturer, I'd been bedridden for days afterwards. The _wrongness_ of using my magic that way made me throw up blood. _Blood of my victims._ Rowan never left my bedside, pushing aside the rest of his duties to nurse me back to health. And cursing himself for bringing me to this blasted court in the first place.

I used to think about how my parents would react if they could see me now. The disgust and disappointment on their faces. Then I'd think of how Aelin would look down her nose at me, and then set me on fire probably.

I don't think about them anymore. They're dead, so it's there's no use. And besides, I damned my soul to hell the minute I caused another person pain, so I doubt I'll ever see them again in the afterlife. Better to push them down along with my guilt.

Maeve dismisses me with a flippant wave, and I contain a sigh of relief. I don't know how much longer I could have stood there before collapsing.

The steward is just closing the door behind me when I run right into a wall of hard muscle. I'm so disoriented that the impact nearly knocks me off my feet, but strong arms catch me before I hit the ground.

Rowan lifts me up to his chest, and frowns down at me. "You overdid it." He growls.

"I didn't really have much of a choice, did I?" I say, my voice weak and thin. I attempt to roll out of his arms, but he tightens his grip.

"Why does she make you do this?" He mumbles darkly to himself, and begins carrying me to my room.

I don't have to energy to fight his coddling, so I close my eyes and turn my face into his shoulder.

When the tears come, I refuse to let them fall.

* * *

" _Who trained you in your healing gift, darling?"_

 _Maeve asks a lot of questions. I don't really mind - she seems genuinely interested. And she usually brings me gifts when I give an answer she likes._

" _My mother," I say, without looking up from my daisy chain. Maeve had commissioned a small picnic in a meadow just outside the chateau for the two of us. It makes me feel a bit special to have Maeve's undivided attention._

 _She slices an apple in two with a snap of her fingers, and offers me the bigger half. "And what did she teach you, exactly?"_

 _I have to think about that for a minute. "Not much," I admit. "I can heal a couple cuts and bruises. Once I fixed a broken nose."_

 _Maeve frowns, and my stomach flips in panic. Did I say something wrong?_

" _That's it?" She's says with a hint of disappointment._

 _I look down at my hands, blushing red. "Mother wasn't much of a healer. She said I could study at the Torre Cesme and learn real healing magic, if I wanted."_

" _And did you want to?"_

 _I nod again._

 _There's a lengthy pause before Maeve speaks again. "You need not go all the way to the Torre. I will teach you."_

 _I snap my head up, and Maeve is smiling again. "Really?"_

 _The queen of the Faerie realm reaches over and tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "It would be my pleasure."_

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 ** _leave me a comment if you liked :)_**

 ** _\- S.S_**


	3. Loyalty to the Queen

**First off, I'd like to thank everyone who left me a lovely review! It warms my heart to read them and to know that you guys are enjoying this story. Second, I just want to warn you guys in advance that I don't plan on updating more than once a week. The reason for this is because I want every chapter to be perfect, and there's a lot of room for error if I churn out a chapter every day. I would very much appreciate your patience so that I can give you guys the very best content :) Anyway, back to the story...**

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Everything hurts. Even my eyelids hurt. It almost makes me not want to open them.

"Anirah?"

That's Rowan. I groan, and turn away from his voice. The pillow smells faintly like pine needles and fresh snow. I must be in his room, then.

"Anirah, you have to get up. Calypso says you've been in bed for too long."

Fuck Calypso. She might be older than dirt, but she doesn't know everything.

"If I must, I'm not afraid to drag you out," Rowan warns.

"Try it," I mumble into the pillow. "See what happens."

I hear him sigh, then the bed creaks and shifts as he stands up. I follow the sound of his footsteps padding over to the adjoining bathing room, where he turns on the tap with a gush of water.

I wait for him to come back before attempting to lift myself into sitting position. My muscles scream at me, but I grit my teeth against the pain. This is my worst reaction in years.

Rowan must know that too, because his forehead creases with worry as he scans me up and down. "How do you feel?"

I stretch out my arms, groaning at the stiffness of my joints. "Like I was trampled by Dorado."

Dorado is my horse. ' _The goldfish star?'_ Rowan had snorted. I thought I was funny when I was ten.

"How long was I out?"

"Twelve hours."

I will myself not to balk. I must have really exhausted myself.

Rowan is frowning at me, so I busy myself with cleaning my nails. "Connall came by earlier. He told me what happened."

I whip my head up. "Connall was here?" I ask, way too quickly to be casual.

Rowan raises an eyebrow, and I curse myself inwardly. "Did something happen between you two?"

I withhold the urge to look down at my hands, away from his prying eyes. That would seem suspicious.

"No," I say, throwing the pile of blankets off and twisting around the side of the bed. "Why would you think that?"

"Because he's been wandering around like a lost puppy ever since Yulemas," Rowan replies smoothly. "And you've been very obviously avoiding him."

"No I haven't," I retort, and it sounds very childish even to my own ears. I ignore the soreness of my muscles as I stride over to the dresser, and pull out a plain pair of day clothes. "Also, it's none of your business."

He's suddenly right next to me, arms crossed as he looms over me. It makes me nervous when he stands so still like that. "I made _you_ my business that night I saved you," He says matter-of-factly. His eyes flit to the twin scars I'm constantly trying to hide, and his expression goes dark. "If he tried anything with you against your will..."

"Gods, _no_ ," I cut him off before he could finish that thought, and shove him aside so I could make my way to the bathing room. "Nothing like that happened. Leave it alone."

I hear him growl in annoyance, but I slam the door closed before he could reply. Overbearing, overprotective Fae bastard. It was times like these that I wished it could go back to the way things were - when we downright loathed each other.

He'd made it no secret during my first year here that he very much resented being my babysitter. His coldness hadn't really affected me, because I hated him right back for taking me away from my home. I'd begged and begged him for days to go back, if only to find my sister, but he'd refused and said there was nothing that could be done. When he wasn't looking, I'd stamped on his foot so hard that he'd actually looked startled. The memory makes me smile a bit.

I soak in the tub until the water goes cold. He might be a mean old prick, but I can't imagine my life without Rowan. He's the only person in this world that I trust completely. And one of the only people in Doranelle who doesn't recoil in disgust at the sound of my name.

He calls me from the other side of the door, and I can hear the impatience creeping into his voice. Sure, can't imagine life without him, but _gods_ he's a pain in my ass.

"I assume Calypso wants to see me?" I say upon emerging. Rowan's seated at his work table, sharpening an already sharpened knife with near religious zeal. He does that a lot when he's agitated.

"You're already late, so I suggest you get your hide over there before she comes in here and starts screaming again," He warns, not even deigning to look up at me. Because I know it will piss him off, I drop kiss onto his silvery head before hurrying out the door.

Since I'm not performing any official business, I take the rarely used servants passages to the infirmary so I can avoid the nobles. I found them nine years ago when I needed a place to hide from Rowan (I'd accidentally knocked over a five hundred-year-old vase, and Maeve blamed him for not keeping a close enough eye on me). Now they are my preferred form of transportation. Also, they are rather convenient for spying.

Calypso shrieks when I step out from the infirmary's secret entrance behind a tapestry, clutching a wrinkled hand to her chest. "Great Mother and all her children, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"You've seen me use that entrance plenty of times, Cal."

The old woman harrumphs, then points a wickedly sharp knife in my direction. "Watch it girl, you're on thin ice as it is. Now sit."

I do as she says, if only because I still feel exhausted.

'Infirmary' is a little too strong of a word for this place - an apothecary is more like it. Various herbs and medical equipment are crammed in shelves and piled on counters, making the already small space seem even tinier. As usual, the only window is thrown open in an effort to diffuse the overpowering smell of dirt and magic cloistered up in here.

Most of Maeve's healers live and work in a compound about an hour from here, where they can study and perfect their craft. Calypso is considered a Master. Maeve called her back to the city decades ago and made her the resident healer at the Chateau, so she could tend to the nobles and upper class.

Calypso is very good at pretending she doesn't hate it here.

"Are you mad at me?" I ask, twiddling my thumbs in my lap.

Calypso mumbles something unintelligible under her breath, and begins chopping a root of some sort. "No discipline," She says, her words enunciated by the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. "No self-control."

I wince. "Calypso, I-"

"Nearly got yourself killed, that's what you did," She snaps, moving on to the next root. "Honestly, how Maeve tolerates your uselessness, I'll never know."

"It's not like I burned out," I retort, picking at a loose strand on my shirt. "I could have gone on for hours if I wanted."

"No, you couldn't have," She says flatly, finally looking at me for the first time today. Despite her old age, her blue eyes are completely clear. "You were careless. Let the magic consume you. Any longer, and you would have burned from the inside out."

She's right, of course. That doesn't mean I have to make it easy for her. "But I didn't, did I?"

Calypso gives me a long look.

I sigh through my nose. "I'm sorry, okay?"

"Yeah, sure you are. Come here."

I do. Calypso reaches under the table and procures a small basket, then offers it to me. Inside it is a loaf of bread, two apples, and a skein of water.

"Take this to the cells," She says, and covers the contents with a white cloth. "I believe your friend from earlier is currently residing in the farthest one to the right. Give it to him."

I gulp, my knuckles white around the handle of the basket. "I doubt he wants to see me right now," I mutter.

"I don't care. Now go." With that, she shoos me out of the infirmary, and I begin my miserable journey to the dungeon.

* * *

"Back for more, girl?"

I grip the basket like its my only tether to consciousness. "I brought this for you," I say smoothly, lifting it a few inches so he could see.

Killion Pitch is currently huddled in a corner, in the same clothes as earlier. He cradles the arm I broke in his lap, and my stomach lurches at the sight.

He regards the basket, and smiles languidly at me. "Is this her Immortal Majesty's funny way of poisoning me?" He muses, then launches into a coughing fit. He wipes his mouth with his shirt sleeve, and it leaves a dark stain.

"Queen Maeve isn't done with you yet," I say coldly, placing the basket on the floor. I nudge it over to him with my foot, the picture of disgust. "You should be thanking me for this gift."

The old faerie laughs - a humorless sound. "I'd just as soon starve to death."

My lip curls. "That can be arranged," I purr, my voice like honey over shards of ice. If Calypso were here, she'd smack me upside the head for that.

The faerie shrugs, leaning back against the cell wall like it's a chaise lounge. "Like you said - Maeve isn't done with me. She wants me alive."

"There are worse things than death," I murmur, and that old fear begins to creep along my spine. I push it down.

"Indeed there are." The faerie agrees, giving me a pointed look.

I realize if I stay there a moment longer, I'll give myself away as the coward I am. So I turn on my heel, and fish the key to the cell from my pocket.

"I wonder," Killion begins slowly, as I push the door open. "How would your true queen feel if she could see you now, loyally serving another?"

I freeze. The fear bubbles back up. "Maeve is my true queen," I whisper.

The faerie laughs again.

 _He knows._

I should kill him. Right now.

Instead I slam the door shut behind me.


	4. The Mystery Begins

No one outside of Doranelle is supposed to know I exist. Maeve spelled the borders herself, so that anyone leaving would instantly forget any mention of me until they crossed back over. To the outside world, Anirah Ashryver Galathynius died almost ten years ago.

But this faerie from Mistward knew.

There's a chance Cairn told him. But no, that dull spark I saw in Killion's eyes - that was recognition. He'd recognized me.

I don't sleep that night. By morning, I'm so jittery that I feel like crawling out of my own skin. I'm almost hoping Rowan's training session will be brutal today, if only so the pain will give me something to focus on.

"Training is canceled for today."

I can do nothing but balk. Rowan never cancelled training. Ever.

"What? Why?"

He taps the hilt of his sword with his index finger, a nervous tick that he himself is probably unaware of. "There's been a...development," He starts slowly.

I cross my arms, already feeling my patience wearing thin. "What kind of development?"

Rowan lets out a small sigh, and finally meets my gaze. "Killion Pitch is dead."

For a moment, I don't know what to say. A couple leagues away, a gaggle of court nobles flutter through the corridor, conversation stalling once they spot Rowan and me. He grabs my arm and pulls me into an empty room, casting one last anxious look into the hallway before closing the door.

"How?" I ask.

"Blade to the chest," Rowan explains quietly. "The sentries on duty last night were found unconscious. They didn't see anyone enter or exit the cells."

My stomach goes cold, and I suck in a breath through my teeth. "If I tell you something will you promise not to be mad?"

There is a beat of silence. "Anirah," Rowan says with deadly calm, and an uncomfortable prickle descends down my spine. "What did you do?"

I toe at the ground, unable to meet his frosty gaze. "I...may have knocked the guards out on my way to the cells last night. But I didn't kill him, I swear!"

Rowan slaps a hand over my mouth, and bares his fangs at me. "Say that louder, I don't think Maeve heard you," He hisses. He flinches back when I lick his palm, green eyes flashing. "What were you doing in the cells, Anirah?"

"I was just𑁋" Rowan shoots me a warning look, and I begrudgingly lower my voice to a whisper. "I was just bringing him some food. Calypso makes me do that sometimes after I've...you know."

"What time did you visit him?"

I have to think about that for a moment. "It was about an hour after I woke up so….nine?"

Rowan growls low in his throat, and begins to pace. I hate it when he does that. "You do realize how incriminating that looks, right?"

"I was careful," I argue, beginning to wish that I'd never gotten out of bed this morning. "Like you said, the guards didn't notice anything." All I'd had to do was add a little psychic strain to the pressure points just under their ears. Poor things were unconscious before they hit the ground.

Rowan gives me an exasperated look, and I can tell the exact moment he gives up. "Training is cancelled for today," he repeats, sounding for all the world like he'd just trudged home from war. "Maeve needs me to investigate. Do not tell anybody what you just told me, understand?"

"Yeah, whatever."

He grabs my arm on my way out the door, and his green eyes are flat. " _Nobody_ , Anirah. If Maeve believes you had something to do with this-"

"Then I'll suffer a fate worse than death, and whatnot. I got it." Rowan looks like he wants to say more, but I'm already halfway down the hall.

His warning is futile and we both know it. Maeve can make him spill every last secret of his soul if she wanted.

And I'd stopped caring about whether I lived or died a _long_ time ago.

* * *

Back in my room, a large white wolf lounges on my bed, waiting for me. It lifts its head at my approach, and flashes its jagged teeth in what can only be a grin.

"You better not be shedding," I say in greeting, leaning back against the doorframe. "Those are fresh sheets."

With a flash and soft _pop_ , the wolf turns into Fenrys, still wearing that infuriating grin. "Morning sunshine. You're certainly in a lovely mood today."

"Judging by the fact you're hiding out in here, not as lovely as Maeve's," I deadpan, flopping down next to him.

"I'm not _hiding_ ," He argues. "Just...strategically staying out of her Highness's way. She's not exactly pleased that the prisoner went and died without her permission."

I snort, the warning for Fenrys to watch his words in regard to Maeve dying on my tongue. He would have been dead a thousand times over already for his insolence if Maeve didn't lust after him so much. It's a bit sickening, actually.

"I thought you'd be investigating with Rowan."

"I am. But I wanted to check on you first. Con told me you were practically comatose yesterday." He bonks his knee against mine, and for a moment, I can pretend that everything is back to normal. That the twins and I are still thick as thieves. But then I remember I'd ruined that.

"How...is he?" I ask slowly, and the constant dull ache in my chest sharpens a fraction.

Fenrys sighs, running a hand through his golden hair. "He says he's fine, but I can tell he's angry. At me, mostly."

The knot in my throat makes it hard to swallow. "I'm sorry," I whisper, for the millionth time probably. "I wish there was a better way."

"I know." Fenrys gives me a sweet smile, and pulls me into his side.

His comfort only makes me feel guiltier, but my greed for contact outweighs it. We stay like that for a little while, until I reluctantly pull away. "I should probably go see Calypso. She must have examined the body by now."

Fenrys quirks and eyebrow. "You're actually interested in this case?"

I brush invisible lint off my pants, and swiftly pull back my hair into a tail. "Perhaps." I fix him with a look. "Unless you plan to tell Rowan. Then I decidedly am not."

Fenrys chuckles, and there's a glint in his eyes that only the thought of mischief can ignite. "Message received. I'll catch you later blondie." And with that, he winks out of existence.

* * *

I again enter the infirmary through the tapestry entrance, and also again, Calypso jumps. She manages to keep her swearing at bay this time, though.

"I was about to send for you. Would you like some tea?" She asks neutrally, as if there isn't a dead body currently decomposing not five inches away from her. Killion Pitch is spread-eagled on the work table, completely naked except for the white cloth covering his modesty (Of course Calypso would care about a dead man's modesty). A neat 'Y' incision stretches from is chest plate to navel, thankfully already stitched back up.

What I assume is the murder weapon lies on a nearby counter, and to my surprise, it seems to be an ordinary kitchen knife. Definitely not the sophisticated dagger I was expecting. Right next to it are several large specimen jars, and inside….well, you can guess what was inside.

"I'll pass on the tea," I say quickly, forcing my eyes away from the stomach-lurching sight. "Were you able to gather anything from the body?"

Calypso harrumphs, and pours a steaming cup for herself. "Skipping over formalities, then. Yes, I was able to discern that the time of his death was around ten-thirty. There are no outward signs of a struggle, most likely because he was already too weak to adequately fight back against his attacker."

Time of death was ten-thirty. That puts me in the clear, although it is a very close call. "Have you told Maeve?"

Calypso slumps into a seat by the window, stretching out her bad knee. "Her Highness is aware. She's focused now on finding his killer."

This has struck me as unusual ever since Rowan told me he was tasked with investigating.

"Cal?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't you think it's a little...odd, how overboard Maeve is going over this?"

Cal pauses, her teacup halfway to her lips. "How so?"

I shrug, barely knowing where I was going with this either. "I don't know. Killion Pitch didn't seem to be that important. And all he stole was a stupid little mirror." Even if the mirror was valuable, there was really no reason I could see Maeve having to keep Killion alive.

Unless she still wanted the answers he had refused to give her and the killer had permanently silenced. But why?

Calypso considers me, an unreadable expression on her lined face. "Whatever the reason is, I want you to keep your nose out of it. Meddling in Maeve's business never ends well."

"Ugh. You sound just like Rowan," I whine, taking a seat across from her.

The old woman cracks a smile, and downs the rest of her tea. "Good to know the brute has _some_ sense. Now quit pouting and go to the greenhouse. There are plants that need trimming."

I do as she says, but only because the scent of death was beginning to make me lightheaded. On my way to the greenhouse, it only then occurs to me that I'll never find out how Killion recognized me.

Good. Better to leave the past buried.

* * *

 **I'm so sorry for the delay guys, this summer has been pretty crazy with college visits and vacation and whatnot. Also, I pretty much changed the entire direction I wanted this story to go in, so there have been many sleepless nights of editing and re-writing (Because I'm a sadist). I hope this chapter is worth the wait. As always, leave a comment if you enjoyed! I'd love to hear from you :)**


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